


Quaternary

by Ldyghst



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Clones, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Prompt Fill, Science, Self-Lubrication, Were-Creatures, Werecats, challenge fill, foggy science, scientist jensen, spn_masquerade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-29
Updated: 2015-04-29
Packaged: 2018-03-26 08:39:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3844375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ldyghst/pseuds/Ldyghst
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: Jensen is a scientist who's finally cloned the megafauna of your choice - woolly mammoth, giant elk, sabre-tooth tiger, giant sloth etc - only to find that it's not just an animal but a were who transforms into Jared. They end happily ever after, once Jensen's introduced cro-magnon Jared to 21st-century life and Jared has persuaded uptight Jensen to give into his primitive urges...</p><p>For spn_masquerade Round 2 Winter 2015.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Quaternary

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [SPN_Masquerade ](http://spn-masquerade.livejournal.com/)  
> 
> 
> Round 2
> 
> Winter 2015
> 
> Originally posted [here](http://spn-masquerade.livejournal.com/4214.html?thread=822390#t822390).

Jensen never thought his personally funded experiment would lead to this. Jail…possibly. Making his mark in history…hell yes. A naked, hairy, screaming man throwing random medical instruments around his office…not so much.

The cloning had gone beautifully. Gestation in the artificial womb had been perfect. Rapid growth and development stimulation, amazing.

He’d had the perfect, living and breathing saber-toothed cat…until it turned into a man. Right there on the exam table. He’d been waking it slowly from the artificial sleep he’d had it under, weaning it off of the anesthesia—excited by the prospect of seeing it awake.

It takes Jensen fifteen long minutes and a bag of gummy worms to get the man calmed down. He hasn’t even been able to touch him, but luckily the man seems to be content to sit in the corner and eat the candy Jensen is throwing at him.

Jensen attempts to lure the man closer, shortening the candy’s trajectory slightly. The man looks suspicious, from what little Jensen can see of his face through the mass of hair and beard. But he scoots forward, still in a defensive crouch. His long, nimble fingers snatch the red gummy off of the tile floor, before he shoves the sweet unceremoniously into his mouth.

“Good?” Jensen asks hold a handful of them out. They’re about five feet apart now, but Jensen knows he can get him closer. The man stares at him through his thick locks, he makes an abortive movement toward Jensen, then stops. He sniffs and then lets out a rumble.

He lunges, and Jensen falls backwards off his stool in an effort to get away. The pain and pummeling he’s expecting don’t come. Instead, the man is sitting over him munching on the candy Jensen had dropped during his failed escape—the cellophane bag hanging daintily from his fingertips.

Jensen does his best to slide away from the man, pressing his back against the stainless steel cabinet behind him. The man rumbles again and scoots forward, head tilted in a questioning stance. He shuffles forward on his knees and leans into Jensen’s personal space, sniffing.

He sneezes, right in Jensen’s face, and Jensen cringes.

“Bless you,” he says, gingerly wiping masticated gummy bear off his cheek with his sleeve.

The man rumbles again and flops down against Jensen, gummy bear bag clutched against his chest.

:::

After the…cuddling, Jensen somehow extricates himself from the man’s grasping hands. He wrestles him into a pair of scrub pants, and spends a good five minutes laughing at the man’s obvious discomfort and attempts to adjust his junk.

The man is tactile as hell, hands everywhere at once—Jensen’s mouth, ears, hair, and pants.

He snags a pair of scissors off out of his desk drawer. “Okay, hold still. Not that you’d know what I’m saying…”

He manhandles the man into a chair and firmly plants a hand on his chest, “Stay.” He’s surprised when the man obeys.

He runs his hands through the man’s soft hair, selecting a bit of length in front of his eyes. He makes a snip and suddenly he can see a hazel eye staring back at him. Another snip, another eye. And he continues until the man has some semblance of a haircut. Next he snips away the scraggly bits of beard, doing his best without clippers, until it’s a comfortable length.

Sharp, hazel eyes watch him the entire time.

Jensen steps back and the man shakes himself off like a dog. He looks so young—skin smooth across his angular cheekbones and straight, sloping nose.

Jensen smiles, and the man bares his teeth—animalistic—in return.

:::

Later, he’s gotten the man into an oversized hoodie and given him some water and food.

Jensen suspects the man has somehow retained some memories of his life before extinction—the instant ability to walk, to feed himself, to seek comfort.

Currently, he’s pestering the fish through the glass of Jensen’s office fish tank. He’d tried and failed to get the top off.

“You need a name. I should have named you sooner, but I was so scared you wouldn’t make it…or that I’d get caught.” Jensen says to him as he’s contemplating what exactly to do.  He crouches in front of the man, who smiles at him—learning already.

He presses a hand to his chest. “Jensen.”

Then touches the man’s chest.

Then his own again. “Jensen.”

The man tilts his head and touches his own chest, and then stares at his hand. “Jaerdt” He presses his hand to Jensen’s chest. “Jen.”

“Jaerdt.” He says emphatically.

“Jaerdt.” Jensen repeats.

:::

Jaerdt’s first card ride and their first night in Jensen’s apartment had been a disaster. Jaerdt was terrified the entire night, scarred by the flashes of light and horns in the busy traffic and the bumps and raised voices of Jensen’s neighbors. They had spent the night holed up on Jensen’s couch—Jaerdt snuggled against his side, face hidden in his neck.

After that initial night, Jaerdt became more and more comfortable.

Jaerdt had discovered the television the third day, and there had been no going back from there.

:::

Jensen hands Jaerdt a plate of vegetables and steak, careful to step around the collection of random object he’s been exploring—the potato masher, a fake plant, a scattered deck of playing cards, and a pile of random laundry pieces.

He takes his own plate to the couch, settling in and starting on his carrots.

“Juice?”

Jensen nearly drops his plate. Jaerdt is staring at his earnestly.

“Juice?”

“Uh…did you.”

“Juice.” Jaerdt repeats, voice excited.

:::

The next morning Jensen wakes to two hundred pounds of saber-toothed cat lying across his legs and taking up most of his bed. He panics for a moment, thinking that perhaps human-shaped Jaerdt had been a fluke. But he wakes Jaerdt with his flailing, and in a breath, he’s transformed back.

He blinks sleepily at Jensen, pulling himself up the bed and sliding himself into Jensen’s space.

Jensen wonders if this would happen again…to another clone. But a small part of him hopes that Jaerdt will be the only one. Not for personal gain, but because he knows what others would have done in his situations. How his colleagues would have exploited the situation—vivisection, experimentation, reproduction.

Jaerdt’s trust in him…his charming personality and earnest need to experience anything and everything he can get into, has Jensen enraptured. Jensen vows to get him out into the world more—let him live.

:::

Two months later, Jaerdt has made remarkable leaps and bounds in his speech and learning.

“Jen, go to the flowers now?” He asks as they turn the corner on Jensen’s block. Jensen smiles at Jaerdt’s enthusiasm for the tiny flower shop up the street.

“Yes, Jaerdt. We can go get flowers. Daisies today?”

Jaerdt nods and smiles. “The best.”

They stop, Jaerdt picking a bunch of white daisies, burying his nose in the middle and inhaling.

The florist—a tiny lady with silver-lavender hair who Jaerdt has charmed—smiles and passes Jensen his change.

“Come on, Jaerdt. Time to go home.”

“Home,” Jaerdt repeats, grabbing Jensen’s hand—a newly acquired habit.

:::

That night, in the glow of the television Jaerdt kisses him—a chaste, rough brush of lips. Jensen rears back, and Jaerdt looks pained.

“S-sorry.” He says, making a move to pull himself from the couch. Jensen stops him, pulling him back down into his embrace.

“Tell me why you kissed me, Jaerdt.”

Jaerdt smiles. “Love you.”

Jensen sighs. “Do you know what that word means?”

Jaerdt is quiet for a few moments, “Love means. Home. Comfort. Mate. Safe. It means, you. Jen. You.”

Jensen presses a kiss to Jaerdt’s temple and holds him closer, tighter.

:::

Later, in the nest of their bed they come together. The press of skin against skin, Jaerdt yowling like the cat he his.

He bucks back against Jensen, ass against groin. “Please.”

“Wait,” Jensen breathes. “Wait.”

“No. Now. Please.”

Jensen bends, grappling for the nightstand. But Jaerdt rolls, pushes him onto his back, and straddles him. He grasps Jensen’s cock and presses the head against his hole.

“Jaerdt, we have to—” He grunts as Jaerdt sinks down onto him. Tight, _wet_ , squeezing heat surrounds Jensen.

“It’s okay.” Jaerdt breaths out, head tilted back. He rocks forward once, twice and yowls. Jensen moans in response.

“How…” Jensen asks as he grasps Jaerdt’s hips, pushing up with the rhythm he’s starting.

He reaches around, fingering where they’re connected. Slipper liquid slithers out around his dick, not unlike the synthetic lube in his nightstand or from what he remembers of his first time with his high school sweetheart, Marley.

He has a few moments to contemplate the scientific aspect of this before Jaerdt demands him to get his head back in the game—twisting and picking up the pace of his hips. He’s wild above Jensen, hair—longer again—billowing around his head and eyes locked with Jensen’s.

Jensen clutches Jaerdt’s fat cock, thumbing the head and ruffling the foreskin. Jaerdt hisses, nails raking across Jensen’s chest.

“Jen. Jen.”

“Come on, Jaerdt.” He says in return, jacking him once, twice.

Jaerdt collapses forward, painting Jensen’s chest and his own, with come. Jensen follows him, emptying himself inside.

“Love.” Jaerdt whispers, face buried in Jensen’s neck.

“Love.” Jensen replies.


End file.
